The Frank & Walters

Grand Parade (Setanta)
by Jamie Kiffel

It’s the summer of ’87 and UK rock is synonymous with smooth, male tenors mooning over synthesizer and drum machine-enhanced, pop propositions of love. You find yourself stamping your drum pedal foot to the same tunes as rock star wannabes in Santa Cruz and housecoated housewives in Indiana. Even Texan two-steppers are working out line dances to the stuff. Fast forward to 1998. Most of these musicians are now remembered for one or two big-haired wonders, each of which is inconveniently buried amidst nine or ten clunker tunes which, if not for the single, favored song, would merit disposing of the entire, embarrassing evidence of any ’80s involvement whatsoever.

The Frank & Walters could easily have dropped right out of this musical era. As I was reviewing Grand Parade, my mom walked through the house and said, “Wow, I haven’t heard anything like this in ten years! I admitted that I had just checked and double-checked the production date, myself. The stuff sounds like early Cure, or The Smiths, or possibly Duran Duran after some lollipops and a few cups of coffee. The hit single would be “Indian Ocean,” which carries the essence of the neon legwarmer decade with high sighs and a pulserate drum beat to set them off. This disc oozes shimmery hair gel. Out with the 1960s retro sound of political freedom; in with the hip, now, 1980s sound of capitalist gluttony.
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